The End-Stonia.

Where am I? Where have I been? Where am I going? These questions keep smacking me in the face when I look up, open my eyes, and shake my head in total disbelief that I am where I am…and where I’ve been is in the past.

I was in Estonia 3 weeks ago. I was crying my not-so-tiny heart out on my friend’s shoulders in Latvia on August 23^rd. I was in Dallas with my mom, my family, and friends not even 2 weeks ago. And here I am, September 15^th, a week and half into living in New York, one week of work under my belt, and gearing up to leave for Washington D.C. for my first work-related trip tomorrow.

Where am I?

At a Starbucks in the Upper West Side.

But really: In some sort of whirlwind. That’s’ for sure. The thing is… I know who I am and what I’m doing more than ever…those two align seamlessly. And yet, the people surrounding me make it all feel like home. So when I look up at the tiny Spanish bodegas on my street corner in Brooklyn, or hear Russian whiz past me as I stroll through Central Park…it just all feels right. Like it was meant to be. Or rather, I made it be.

And I’ve gathered that I am where I am – not because of where I’ve been, but what I’ve done with where I’ve been, what I’ve seen, what I’ve felt.

I refuse to speak of Estonia in the past-tense, I’m not quite ready to let Estonia go back there. I’m holding onto it, trying to keep the memories active and buzzing – the people within arms-length. Or Skype-reach. I can’t, yet, dig deep into the year and all that it has meant to me – I want to sum it up and say “it’s meant everything”, but it filled certain holes, specific places that needed filling. Places that have made me more me. I am more me.

I feel good.

My heart literally tightens at the thought of the beautiful, giving, and fantastically special people in the Baltics. Thinking of them can turn a 45-minute subway ride into 5-minutes. And yes, hearing Russian in public spaces could not give me more joy than a CLIF bar and a vanilla latte. That’s big joy.

Getting messages from my kids saying, “We miss you”, “We love you”, “Our meeting was not the same without you” – Yeah, that kills me. These kids who are across the ocean, touching Russia, a ferry-ride from Finland, these kids think of me? They have to know how much I think of them – holding back my love for them was never an issue.

And these thoughts, these images hit me differently. Most times I’m sad knowing they’re so far away…other times, I’m just so happy and grateful we keep in touch with one another. And that I was able to experience the magical year I wanted so badly – so badly. And I got it. I made it mine, and here I am.

At a Starbucks in the Upper West Side.

One week of work under my belt. Not just any ordinary week of work; meaningful work. Work that intertwines with what I believe in right now, and what I wish to see in the world – with people who care, with people who are on the exact same page as me. That makes me feel good.

I’m on some sort of cloud. Not sure if it’s cloud-nine; but it’s a cloud a little higher than the Brooklyn bridge – I can see Estonia, I can see Brooklyn, I can see Manhattan. Dallas, you’re there too. My co-worker shared a “Jewish saying”, that sometimes your head can be where you are, but your soul might be slowly trailing behind, taking its’ time to catch up with your body. I believe that. It’s happening. Currently. Like, right now.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

My soul is taking its’ time, and I’m not going to push it to go any faster.

Oh, but I have so many good stories of my first week in Brooklyn and Manhattan! I think, what I’ll do, is create another blog by the name of…

www.brookjenyc.wordpress.com

Where I start a fresh chapter/page/blog roll, accounting my stories of living in a place that is unlike any other place I’ve lived in – I’m talking way more culture shock than Kansas AND Estonia combined. This should be good. This should be interesting.

 Thank you SO much for following me on JENSTONIA the past year! Your readership, commentary, and presence has meant so much to me – and it will continue to as I navigate my next journey in Brooklyn and Manhattan.

Love to all,

Jenstonia – forever Jenstonia

My Junestonia.

“I live in Estonia” – I’m going to miss saying that.

As I approach the last 3 months of my service in the Baltics, I can’t keep myself from swatting away the surreal nostalgia bug. “We’re going to miss you, you know?”, my friend casually said to me last night as we traded sushi rolls and sipped on the house white wine, which tasted more like water – exactly how 3Eur house wine should taste.

As I catch the water trickling from the outside of my wine glass, I tell my girls how horrendous and non-graceful I will be when the time approaches for me to pack my belongings and ship stateside; literally covered in tears, slobber, the works. The thought of waking up the first morning in my own bed in Dallas, not in my cozy little apartment in the city center of Tallinn, is enough to get my tear ducts exercising and heart dropping well past my stomach.

When you think about it, it’s really not okay. I mean, it’s going to be okay (it always is), but this experience is so deep, so meaningful, that nonchalantly removing myself from it and carrying on in a place that leaves no semblance of the streets I walked or the people that turned into the best of friends… that’s a damn crime, guys! It’s my job to keep the door on this time cracked open; keep the memories alive and the strong network of friends and colleagues in touch. I know that life goes on, people are busy, but shutting the door completely is a total non-option. In fact, I’m thinking about signing up for Russian courses immediately upon return. Ya neva know, right?

But for real, living and breathing an experience that I’ve always yearned for is two dozen blessings and more. For the most part, I am consistently warmed and overjoyed by this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, its’ impermanence reminds me to chronically smell the roses. I haven’t taken enough time the past month to sit and reflect on my rose-smelling; thankfully the whole blog maintenance concept remains in the back of my head. You should know I say to myself daily, “oh! I’ve gotta write about his!”… but it just keeps happening. Good things worth sharing keep happening… and this girl is not complaining.

Here is a piece I started writing 3 weeks ago:

I’m eager to write to you beautiful people tonight!

Hmm, you may be pondering, why is this night different from all other nights? Splendorful inquiry.

 

In one week: one engagement. One birth. One wedding. One bris (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brit_milah).

 

Some of my exceptionally close friends from here and home have been blessed this week. Never in my young adulthood have I experienced a heart-pounding, joyous tear-bursting, up-in-arms wailing kind of reaction for these special moments in life. Oh so this is why they make bridesmaids movies? The passion to plan and take action is burning through my fingertips already. Because when they’re close to you, it’s love on an entirely new level.

And that’s all I wrote because I had to jet off to see the baby, talk to the engaged couple, and get ready for a wedding.

But looking back and reading what I wrote, it is love on an entirely new level when the people are close to you.

So, yes, all those things happened the first week of June. The next week I coordinated the first-ever Estonia and Finland teen exchange program; I mean, the countries are literally 8okm away from one another, the logistics minor (especially with teens who just want to touch each other), and now 23 years since the collapse of the Soviet Union… these kids have Jewish friends up north. Not only that, but they do things a little differently there, so instead of battling for ways to learn more and keep things fresh inside the bubble…they’ve got a literal exchange of knowledge to further enrich their own spaces. Their bubbles are expandable. Fancy that – and just a ferry ride away.

And now I’m en route back to Tallinn from Riga; I spent the weekend in London with my brother – first time I’ve seen the guy since JDC JSC Orientation in August! Right when I hopped off the plane I tubed to the BBYO UK & Ireland office to see what was going down there – I can tell you that would not have been the first thing on my “vacation” list a year ago. I never even had the connection or knew there was an office in London. So I sat in a planning session with some handsome men running the show, and off I went to bond with brother in Central London. Our flat ridiculously good looking and nestled between Notting Hill and Hyde Park. Did I tell you my absolute favorite movie (right before Billy Madison) is Notting Hill? I mean, guys, I fell in love. I just did. It happened. Like if I had no problem with a socialist government and the ludicrous prices of London, I’d live in Notting Hill. My hypothetical vision of living there was proven when I walked into a bar and heard, “uptown girl, She’s been living in her uptown world / I bet she’s never had a backstreet guy / I bet her momma never told her why”, Billy Joel. My man. In a bar. In Notting Hill. Oooooooo-kay.

Anywho, the weekend was great. The weather was quintiessential humid, rainy, London. But I still dug it. My brother and I did what we do and dabbled in some oyster-eating, wine-drinking, and career-trajectory-talking. Not gonna lie, London was a nice break to the West – I forgot, however, how material our little world was… and the material is soooooooooooooooooo good. Such great boutiques and creative brands out there. I’m so out of the loop. Actually, I think anyone not living in London, Paris, New York, or LA have to be out of the loop. Sorry if you’re in the loop and you don’t live in any of the above cities. If you live in the loop in St. Louis, you’re more literally in the loop than anyone. I’m done.

On Friday, I go to my homeland for one month: LITHUANIA. You know, that country once linked with Poland as a region home to the largest diaspora population between the 16^th and 19^th centuries? I’ll be there for one month of Baltic regional summer camp. Yours truly will be directing sports and cheer-building. I figured in my last few months here, I wanted to contribute to as much as possible… these kids are about to get sports training like never before. I’m talkin’ UNC runs, knock out, Swedish soccer, you name it. It’s happening.

I’m off for now and hope to find a few moments to update you while I’m in Lithuania! One last plug for the Baltics (or at least Poland and Lithuania): If your roots are from here and you’re able to board a plane, please visit. The further we get from an area, which before the war, provided such a lively, supportive infrastructure for Jews to learn and succeed in relative peace… the more it erases from our memory, the more we disconnect from our roots and how we are able to flourish today. I will strongly state that it is only ignorance which keeps us from returning to this part of the world; it is safe, beautiful, full of smart and dedicated people, and you’ve just gotta do it if you can.

Signing off! Happy summer, yawl!

Jenstonia – AKA Jenthuania for July.  

 

 

Hashtag #Pesach

Before I get into it, I’d like to take a second to recognize just how cool Estonia is

Listen to this Estonian band:

 

Tallinn Music Week: 4 – 6 April / 233 artists from 20 countries / http://www.tallinnmusicweek.ee <– Check out that lineup!

E-estonia: How did a small, post-Soviet nation transform itself into a global leader in e-solutions? Learn more here: http://e-estonia.com/

And well, there’s me of course:

It’s above freezing today, so naturally I’m sitting on a rooftop in Old Town..

 

 

Now do me a favor if you have Instagram, Twitter, or Facebook: I’ll use Instagram for this ‘exercise’  – I want you to search the hashtag “Pesach” or “Passover” or “Chag Sameach”

Take a minute or two to check out the photographs posted under the aforementioned #hashtags. These are Seder tables from all over the world. I’ll repeat, ALL OVER THE WORLD.

Here I go: Freely celebrating this holiday that commemorates an enslaved time nearly 3,300 years ago. Not only freely celebrating, but showing the entire world through photos, hashtags, and Facebook posts that Jewish people around the world are not ashamed. No, no, not ashamed.

Times like these reaffirm my total adoration for the power of Social Media (especially when it combines my favorite holiday).

20 years ago on the “Eastern Bloc”, where Soviet Expansion suppressed all forms of religion, matzah would not be a 12 year-olds Facebook cover photo. 10 years ago, no chance in hell would a group of teenagers feel comfortable with opening the door for Elijah in the middle of the city center – in a building built under Stalin, on a street that used to be called “Hitler highway”. But that happened last night. Celebrating freedom from suppression, from humiliation, from utter disdain and hatred – the meaning of Passover had never felt more real to me than it did this year (5773).

Growing up, my friends here didn’t celebrate Pesach at home –a reality that was reiterated to me at the Seder table on Tuesday night. “I was a Soviet kid” I was told, something I tend to forget as we live “normal”, day-to-day lives in Estonia.

I look back and see myself in public school (in Texas, mind you), proudly wearing my Star of David and bringing matzah to lunch. I was one of the three Jewish kids in elementary school, and by day 2 of Pesach I had my non-Jewish friends begging me for matzah. That was in 1996.

The teens that I work with in Estonia were born in the year 1996. The Soviet Union retreated in 1991. The Estonian Jewish Center was centralized and rebuilt in 1992. The only synagogue in Tallinn was built in 2007.

I have no idea how Pesach was celebrated between 1992 and 2012, but in 2013 (5773) I attended 3 Seder’s in Estonia – that’s 3 more than I expected to attend. The first night I went to the only synagogue located in Tallinn’s City Center; that evening, the synagogue hosted two Seders – one for Russian speakers and one for English speakers. I went to the Russian one.

I figured if I wanted comfort in an English Seder, I could go home to Texas – and I certainly wasn’t doing that. I sat near my friends and the other 20-something year olds as well as the President of the Synagogue and his wife. In no time, the President, his wife, and I spoke the language of wine and ensured our glasses were full before the Haggada told us to fill. I spoke my broken Russian, they spoke their broken English, and we sang the songs in Hebrew we both knew. I couldn’t help but smile the entire Seder knowing all too well that this is the experience I wanted. I wanted this. This is partly what I signed up for, and this is what I’m getting.

Russian Hagada with my name written in Russian letters

I’m in a county where taking pride in Judaism was unheard of not so long ago; and here I was, sitting at the Seder table celebrating my most loved Jewish holiday in the only synagogue in Tallinn. 60 other people around the room unafraid to be in the city center bitter-herbing their matzah and dipping their potatoes in salt water. Not only that, but I was speaking their language and connecting – something I don’t think I could have done 6 months ago. “Krasivaya devushka” the President’s wife would say to me as we “L’chaimed” to another glass – she was calling me beautiful. She whispered to my friends in Russian, “She looks like such a Jewish girl!” I giggled while my friends pointed at my overly-blushed face and said, “eta ocheen pravda!” or “that’s very true!” and proud of it.

I was so grateful for her warmth at my first Seder in Estonia. She gave me a comfort I didn’t think I missed while celebrating a holiday that’s usually so family-oriented for me.

The next night I went to a friend and colleague’s house for round two of Seder’ing. All in our mid-20’s and early 30’s, some pregnant, some recently married, some soon-to-be married, and some happily single (that’s me!). The Seder totally improvised; YouTube clips from ‘The Prince of Egypt’ and Louis Armstrong’s “Let my people go” displayed from the 3D flat screen TV. Angry Birds played between meals. The best part: As we went through the Haggadah, we played popcorn around the table and read aloud text in Estonian, Russian, Hebrew, English, Latvian, and Bulgarian.

All 12 of us spent 20-minutes searching for the Afikomen even after our search area options were narrowed to 2 rooms. A humbling experience. And as the night progressed, iPhones and Galaxy 3’s came out and photos projected of possible bachelors for the happily single; “No, no, next, next, not happening, meh, not bad, hook me up!” I think I was still wearing my 3D glasses throughout the selection process.

Oh, and then the strangest thing occurred! While engaging in a community Facebook’ing session, someone at the Seder table said, “I know some girl from Dallas”. I jokingly replied, “Yeah, I probably know her and the other 7 million people that live in that city!” But yeah, it happened, you guessed it. The dude pulled up a picture of someone I know very well. WHAT ARE THE ODDS? “We met in Spain at some bar”, he said. I questioned, “Did you tell her you were Estonian because I’m about to use Facebook like never before”. At 2:00am on the second night of Pesach in Estonia, I was talking to my friend in Dallas confirming she knew my friend in Estonia. “And I think to myself, what a wonderful world…”

This is why I love Pesach. The improvisation leads to more improvisation. I might add, whoever developed the Seder service, the visuals, and the grub really gave us stuff to work with. The Seder table holds so many multifunctional props that make going beyond the Haggadah and improvising so unbelievably appealing. This is what I’m all about though: Having positive experiences. It might be super reform, left, or not traditional of me, but it keeps me wanting more.

On Saturday night, I held a Seder at my apartment for teen leaders to celebrate a job well-done their first time being counselors at Estonia’s Spring Camp “L’haim 2013”. Remember when I mentioned them jumping up to greet Elijah at the door? It did happen, and here are some photos from the night!

Before Pesach, I was in Pedase, Estonia (about 60km from Tallinn) for Spring Camp. More like winter camp really, as the snow was very, very present. Like too present. One week full of dancing, singing, cool programs, no sleep, and carb-fueled camp style meals. Except unlike camp in Missouri, USA, they had tea for breakfast. Which was funny and cute to me, and once again proved I was not in Missouri or the United States of America.

Someone once asked me where I am truly myself. My answer to them was “camp”. The image of running around with blue paint all over my face, wearing two different pairs of shoes, and screaming a camp cheer with 50 kids around me is where I am so myself it hurts. So when I was able to do this once again at Estonia’s Spring Camp, you can imagine how ME I felt.

Co-counselors and staff would ask, “Jen, what do you think of camp in Estonia?” My response, “I love camp!” You might have tea for breakfast, sing the Birkat (blessing after the meal) a little differently, but to see kids jumping around to songs in Hebrew, coming up with their own cheers, getting dressed for Shabbat and feeling more connected than ever…camp is camp and camp is GOOD!

I’ve had a magical past 2 weeks here in Estonia, and am looking forward to much more. Please, just tickle my fancy one more time and check out those hashtags, Instagram photos, and Facebook posts. If you’re not into Jewish holidays or find it hard to wrap you head around how 3,300 years ago connects with modern times, don’t wrap your head around it. Know that it is a remarkably beautiful thing that anyone with a smart phone, a Facebook or Twitter account, feels empowered and SAFE enough to share their traditions with the rest of the world. Oh, and the best part is that people “like” it.

To #connecting,

Jenstonia – #Diyeinu

The Power of Returning

“There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered” – Nelson Mandela, my South African homeboy.

I think of this phrase each time I return – to anywhere really. This time I was returning to Israel for the first time, meaning it was my second visit to the Land of Milk and Honey.

Last week, I went to Israel for the JDC JSC [Jewish Service Corps] Midyear seminar; all 25 fellows traveled from their placements (Buenos Aires, Haiti, Rwanda, etc.) and met in Jerusalem for 4-days of reflection, learning, and re-motivating for the last half of our placements – and all those things happened.

Before I go any further, you must know it’s absolutely abhorrent to believe it’s been 6 (or “midyear”) months since I’ve been in Estonia. Yeah, abhorrent, I said that. My next choice would have been heinous. I don’t even know what 6 months is supposed to feel like when jumping in and adapting to an entirely new country, new city, new working environment, new languages, new friends, etc. I will say, however, feeling-wise it seems as though I’ve been here for 6 years, work-wise, I’ve only just begun. Oh, 6 months, why don’t you come attached with a specific feeling?

Estonia still looks like this though —> 

Back to Israel: My first visit was with Birthright in 2010. I’m just gonna throw it out there: I had such high expectations (I now laugh at how high they were). Expectations to connect with the people, the land, my Judaism, and every last fiber of my being. Unrealistic much? Maybe this was the effect of 20+ years of “Israel Days” at camp, “Israel Weeks” at university, meeting sexy IDF soldiers, or repping the Israeli flag because that’s what everyone else did. I left Israel disconnected and disappointed, wondering why, if this country was the birthplace of Judaism and my people, did I not feel a part of it?

My return last week was my opportunity to feel something; expectations lowered, no over-thinking, no over-hoping or wishing that I get hit with a spark of spirit that subconsciously has me reciting Torah in perfect Hebrew as I walk through the Old City. I mean, who has that kind of vision anyway? (Answer: 20 year-old Jen)

Thurs, 28 Feb: I flew into Israel a few days before the seminar so I could run the Jerusalem Marathon (or 10k) with my friend and fellow JSC-er who lives in Jerusalem. I cab to meet my friend at the JDC-Israel office and we walk up the JLM hills to pick up our race packets at the Convention Center. (Pause)

Thought #1: I fly in by myself and meet my friend and fellow JSC fellow outside of the JDC-Israel Office.

Thought #2: In 2010, I had no idea what JDC was, and had it not been for JDC, I would have never met friend, which means I would have never run the Jerusalem Marathon or met friend outside of the JDC-Israel office. Man oh man, so much has changed since 2010.

Thought #3 and summation: I like the direction my life is going!

(Unpause)

We get our race packets in a sea of neon-colored booths: Saucony, Nike, Gatorade power gel, water bottles, nordic walking poles, t-shirts, t-shirts, and more t-shirts. Oh yeah, and the booths were in Hebrew.

Thought #1: Omg, I love tennis shoes.

Thought #2: Israel, you’re looking mighty good this trip.

We head back to a home-cooked and carb-filled dinner to prepare for the race in the morning.

The next scene you can find me fighting back tears as I run through the Old City with thousands of other runners, donkeys and goats on the mountain to my left, the sun beaming down us north-polers in desperate need of a tan, locals holding signs saying,“keep smiling, you’re almost done!”, and friend by my side up and down every bloody hill.

We finish the race together and gorge on hummus, pita, and pickles with other JSC-ers who ran and JSC-ers who came to cheer us on.

Hmmmm, I sigh, with my forming shin splints and broken hips, “I’m in Israel”.

I said this over and over again the rest of the week. I’m in Israel. And this time, I felt it.

That evening brought Shabbat dinner with other JSC-ers, bottles of wine open, and loud, tri-lingual conversations of our lives all over the world. “Yes, we’re the only white people in the village in Rwanda” or “Yes, I’ve never seen a non-white person in Estonia”. These exchanges were beautiful. 4 others speak Russian in the room, and I understand it … that would have never happened in 2010.

Sunday, 3 March: At last the seminar begins. The last time we were in the same room together was in August for orientation, and here we are, midyear, in Jerusalem. The symbolism off the charts.

We all sit in a large circle and smirk at one another, happy to be in the same room and in company of those who may be experiencing similar things and have a general shared sense of understanding the world in which we live.

4 days of introspection, reflection, reevaluating expectations, and setting new goals for ourselves. Each of us experiencing such vastly different things, but still able to connect and support one another. I often introspect introspection, and I can tell you the conversations that were taking place those 4 days in Jerusalem were nothing shy of brilliant. For some reason I choose to not analyze, the level of openness and comfort in vulnerability were things I had never seen in a group dynamic. Let’s be real, the process of moving to a new country and getting comfortable with new working environments definitely has some challenges.

I am a firm believer that being okay with feeling vulnerable leads to growth in directions we may not reach if we remain guarded and protected. Pride and control seem to be constants in that wall we love building. The vulnerability I witnessed in those 4 days led to empathy (not sympathy) and you could actually see that feeling of ‘alone’, in which many felt, slowly drifted away. The absence of alone brought new ideas and a support network to cheer-on those ideas. Just like that. 4 days.

Sidenote: If you’re interested in learning more about the power of vulnerability, I really recommend this TedTalk:

 

The fact that I was experiencing and witnessing these things in Jerusalem could not have been more meaningful to me. Powerful sessions in conference rooms during the day led to powerful conversations at dinner and bars at night. No matter how deeply we yearned to pound shots and get hammered together, we were too into learning about each other’s lives around the world to let any amount of alcohol drunken the conversations.

The end of my trip got me thinking about my connection to Israel. Everything I’ve learned or seen in the past have just been symbols of the state; the Hebrew language, IDF shirts, Israel flags, falafel, hummus, etc. For me, it takes positive, low-key experiences like running through Jerusalem, understanding how the city is spaced out, knowing where the local supermarket is, and drinking beers with friends who live here to feel connected. The second question is, why does it have to be more than that? Having these experiences fuels me with a desire to return and see my friends again, run the marathon in less time (get 4,000^th place instead of 6,000^th), or befriend those donkeys and goats I saw on the mountain. Getting a taste of real life in Israel and walking the streets with friends will get me back. Undoubtedly.

I haven’t said this to them yet, but I am so grateful to my friends and fellow JSC-ers for showing me the Jerusalem they know and love. Little did they know, but they were strengthening the connection to Israel that I’ve yearned for since I was little. There’s no question I will come back to further explore — I am finally connected. I wonder how Mandela’s quote will come into play the second time I return?

And then I went to Athens and Istanbul to get my tourist on! 1 day in each city meant walking 12 hours a day and LOVING EVERY MINUTE OF IT. Some photo’s below!

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

 

 

Tomorrow I am off to “L’chaim”, or Estonia’s annual “Spring Camp”! I haven’t been to camp in 4 years, so yawl know how excited this girl is! J

To returning,

Jenstonia – campcounselorforever

The Spirit of a Small Community

Sometimes I am taken by my current location

When the sky isn’t grey or white or “Baltic winter”, the sun’s rays do more than just bring Vitamin D and one less shiver

They shine upon buildings, on street signs, on knitted scarves protecting delicate faces

They nudge my feet to catch my head

They tell my heart to sew deeper

 They remind me

I am in the FSU, I am in Europe

I see preserved Soviet Stars and “õ ä ö ü” (oohhaooauuuu)

“Hah”, I giggle very acceptingly, I’ll never speak Estonian

 I feel trams swiftly moving beneath my over-socked feet

And cars gliding through brown slush on what’s left of the street

  

I pass cafes on every corner, some European-ly intricate, some Soviet-ly not

Free WiFi stamped on each window, 4 Euro for this cappuccino

“Aitah” I say as I walk out the door

But “aitah” they won’t say when they look at the floor

The mush from the street

Leaves the tile not so neat

But I learned long ago that verses nature…

Man can’t compete

 

I put my hands back in leather

Assured my cappuccino helps bear the weather

 

I look up, astonished, furry hood obscuring the view

Re-reminding myself, HEY, you live here too!

 

Then I get to go to a vibrant corner in the center of town, where passionate people work hard, and community is found.

The spirit immeasurable, the fight noteworthy

All for the purpose of keeping our small tribe enduring

 

Shared responsibility, Jewish Peoplehood, revival

All the things I yearned to feel

After many stories of survival

 

The spirit of a small community

Pure and true

Gives the feeling of togetherness

Me and You

 

Maybe just maybe

This shekel goes here, and that one there

Euro makes few, but they don’t just make do

They make history

They make future

“From Survival to Revival”

 

The spirit of a small community

Tallinn, Estonia

I wanted to try something a little different, and I’m almost positive rhyming is fun for everyone. Woops, that’s my last one I promise. This is my poetic attempt at casually taking you through everything I see, hear, and feel. I left smells out for no specific reason. So quit sniffing. The bigger part of this is “the spirit of the small, Jewish community”; it’s quite difficult for me to use words to portray the beautiful energy that exists here, but the main thing I wanted to leave you with is that with so little, they make so much. And they fight so hard to ensure the future generations are able to receive some things we may overlook or deem as “normal” in our upbringing. I am constantly surprised by the spirit and might of the leaders and involved members of the community, and I owe them so much for continuously re-lighting my Jewish fire and peeking my curiosity to explore further.

“But the people on the street, out on buses or on feet, we all got the same blood flow” – Amos Lee